


Spidey Bells

by moon__craters



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Marvel Universe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon__craters/pseuds/moon__craters
Summary: “Hey,” he whispers, running a few fingers down her bare arm.She breathes in deeply and cracks an eye open.  “Hmm.”“Merry Christmas, MJ.”“Merry Christmas, Peter,” she says back, barely more than a murmur, but the sound of her voice lights something in Peter’s stomach, even after all this time.I love you so much, he thinks.
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Spidey Bells

Christmas 2020

Peter B. Parker slowly peels the layers of blankets back and reaches his bare feet towards the cold wooden floor. He sits on the edge of the bed for a minute, back hunched and relaxed and tired eyes blinking open. Mary Jane Watson sleeps soundly beside him, one thin strap of her camisole sleep shirt falling down her shoulder and thick red waves strewn across the pillow. She had just started growing it out again, and Peter can’t help but admire her.

They’ve only just begun trying to fix their relationship, only been officially together again for one year. And despite the amount of work they had to put in: screaming matches, breakdowns, and silent nights, they were just beginning to sew themselves back together. One tiny stitch at a time. One “I love you” and “I’m sorry” at a time. It still hurt Peter more than he could ever explain that he had caused his _wife_ this much pain. Looking at her lying there peacefully brings emotion up from his chest into his eyes. He wants to touch her cheek, or maybe her hair. But for now, he’ll let her rest.

He stands up fully, careful not to jostle the bed. He pulls some clothes on: a sweater and sweatpants. He smiles silently, thinking of what Gwen or Miles would say. He misses them, wonders how they’re getting on. Especially Miles. Has he filled the role of the new Spider-Man in his New York? Is he getting along with his dad? Is he getting good grades?

_Geez, I sound like a dad._

Chuckling, he pads out of the room and down to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. He bends over to peek into the fridge, full of delicious ingredients and leftovers from Mary Jane’s spectacular dinner the night before. Christmas Eve dinner. She always made such a fuss about it. The aroma of medium roast coffee fills the kitchen as the dark liquid begins streaming quietly into the red ceramic mugs Peter has set out. He fills one the rest of the way to the brim with sweet cream and the other he sips on as he gets a pan out. Cracking a few eggs into it, they start simmering and popping. When the eggs are done, he slides a few slices of toast onto the plates. Leaning back, Peter admires his handiwork. Not anywhere as nice as what Mary Jane would make, but she’ll be more than happy with it. 

Peter grabs both plates with one hand, using a bit of webbing to make sure they stick where they balance on his forearm, and takes the coffee mugs with his other hand. He makes his way back to the bedroom and sets the food down on the nightstand. Then he crawls back into bed, leaning on one elbow over Mary Jane’s sleeping figure. 

“Hey,” he whispers, running a few fingers down her bare arm.

She breathes in deeply and cracks an eye open. “Hmm.”

“Merry Christmas, MJ.” 

“Merry Christmas, Peter,” she says back, barely more than a murmur, but the sound of her voice lights something in Peter’s stomach, even after all this time. _I love you so much_ , he thinks.

“I love you so much,” he moves his hand back up her arm to her cheek, just grazing it. She leans into his touch, then one of her hands snakes up from underneath the blanket and tugs him down next to her. He collapses off his elbow and snuggles up to her, his body curling around hers. 

“I love you,” she says back, shifting around to face him. She’s still wrapped in the blanket but she gets her arms out and wraps them around him. Peter closes his eyes, resting in the feeling of her holding him. This is the feeling he remembers when he’s out, fighting for the people of the city and even fighting for his life. Mary Jane holds him up, she saves him everyday. Getting to come home to this, to _her_ , is the only thing that holds him together when he’s being Spider-Man. How he did anything without her the past years is beyond him. He had lost his mind, ruining the only good thing for him.

But he was back, and he was home.

He moves forward to kiss her but she laughs and turns her face away. “Stop! I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!” 

“You know I don’t care,” and he peppers her cheeks and face and neck with kisses until she gives in and kisses him on the lips long and hard. He kisses her back, shifting them to her laying on her back and him leaning over her, propping himself up on his arms so he doesn’t crush her. 

Mary Jane breaks away, giggling. She runs her hands down his back. “Are we doing this right now?”

Peter’s breathing a little harder, but he flops onto his back next to her. “I made you breakfast. It’s getting cold.”

“Huh?” She pops up, sitting straight up. “You made me breakfast? Oh, Peter!”

Peter cant help the grin that comes to his face. He reaches over and slides the plates into their laps. Normally they would never eat in bed and risk getting all those crumbs in the sheets, but it is _Christmas_ after all. They look at each other, laugh, and then dig into the cooling eggs and toast. Their coffee is still warm, and they sip silently, looking out at their room and each other. 

“Did you get me anything, Peter?” Mary Jane asks, in mock innocence. 

“I don’t know, did you?” he replies, a smile on his lips. 

“Yes, did you want it now?”

“Only if I give you yours first.”

Like children, they leap out of bed, putting their plates and mugs aside on the floor and running down to the living room. It’s a race, Peter knows by the way Mary Jane gives him a look before dashing down the stairs. Peter jumps down the entire staircase, not bothering to use the steps. He lands in a crouch, then grabs her as she flies past him. She shrieks in delight as he throws her up over his shoulder and runs the rest of the way to their decorated Christmas tree in the living room. Peter sets her down gently on the floor, then plugs the lights in. 

He watches the tiny bulbs reflect in Mary Jane’s eyes. She looks young, wild, and happy, just as he always remembers her from when they were young. Memories of past Christmases flit through his mind, including ones where they were fighting, and then ones spent alone. He would never let her go again. 

Peter stoops and picks up a small package under the tree, wrapped messily but the best he could do. She’s watching him with those lights in her eyes and a sweet smile on her face. She looks perfectly beautiful. He hands it to her, and she opens it slowly, going over each taped seam with her slender finger, separating the folds. It’s a box, a small box. Her mouth gapes open, as if maybe she knows what’s coming.

He takes her hand and lifts her up to stand in their living room, with her thin pajamas and bare feet, messy hair and coffee breath. Then, still holding onto her hands, he kneels down in front of her, with his old sweater and sweatpants, tousled hair and mending heart. He takes the box from her and opens it to show a small sparkling ring, similar enough to her first engagement ring but different enough to show how much had changed.

“Mary Jane Watson, will you marry me?” Peter gazes up at her. “Again,” he adds sheepishly.

She’s speechless for a moment, but her words break through the bewildered look on her face. “Of course, of course! Yes, yes, yes.” Mary Jane’s face is shining like the sun, and she holds her hand out for Peter to slide the ring onto.

“I know a lot of things happened, and I made a lot of stupid mistakes. But my worst mistake of all, my biggest regret, was ever letting you go. I never should’ve let it get to that point. Because I know now. Everything I have, everything that matters, is _nothing_ compared to you. Nothing compared to that smile on your face right now, or your arms around me, or making you coffee in the morning. Just living life with you, being with _you_ , Mary Jane. I signed up for you, and I will never break this promise again. I love you with all my heart. I always have, and I always will.”

A tear slips down Mary Jane’s cheek, and Peter reaches up to wipe it away. “I love you. And you can’t take all the blame. It was both of us, and it’s both of us who are fixing it. It’s always been you, Peter, from the moment I first saw you.” She tilts her head slightly as she speaks, her hair falling over her shoulder. 

A short laugh escapes Peter, a sound of everything he wants to say but can’t, and he rises to pull her into a crushing hug. It’s the only way for them to say, “I understand. Whatever it is, I understand.” They stay that way for a long moment, but Mary Jane pulls away to look him in the eye.

“My turn,” she says.

She hands him a small beautifully wrapped package, all corners and creases perfect and straight. He gives her a devilish look, then tears the whole thing apart, leaving scraps of paper on the floor.

She laughs, “You’re an animal.”

“Only when it comes to you, my dear.” He drops the box and tackles her, pushing her over.

“Open it! Open it!” she screams as he tickles her sides. He releases her and tosses the top off the box.

He stops cold, he swears his heart stops for a moment, skips a beat. There laying in tissue is a thin white stick, with two blue lines on it.

“M-” His throat is dry. He looks up at his wife, who is watching him carefully, one hand over her mouth. 

“Oh my-” Peter looks down at it, then back up at her again. A laugh, a shout tears out of his mouth, a smile splitting his face. He gently lays the box down before jumping to his feet again. Mary Jane stands as well, fresh tears falling down her face. She starts nodding before he says anything. “Are you serious? Is this real? Mary Jane, I-”

She just keeps nodding, her eyes and cheeks wet. Peter puts his hands up to his head, tugs at his hair, then covers his mouth. The world is brightening before his eyes, a million thoughts going through his head at once. This is real, this is happening. 

“Mary Jane,” he says her name again, unable to look anywhere else than her eyes. He crosses the short distance to her, cupping her face in his large hands. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, his voice cracking. He covers her face with kisses again, both of them whispering and crying. 

They sink to their knees, kneeling beside the Christmas tree, Peter’s hand on Mary Jane’s still small stomach, already loving their child more than he thought possible. His heart is growing twice as big just that Christmas morning.


End file.
